


I never forgot about you

by Skrigget



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Family Feels, Father-Son Relationship, Kinda, i did a thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-15
Updated: 2014-03-15
Packaged: 2018-01-15 20:16:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1317829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skrigget/pseuds/Skrigget
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter lies but this is the bitter truth. He never forgot about his son. </p><p>or: the nine times the ruler of Neverland was more Malcolm than Peter Pan</p>
            </blockquote>





	I never forgot about you

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure what this is tbh

,,You forgot about me,”

,,I never forgot about you!”

And they say the prettiest lips tell the prettiest lies, and Peter sure had pretty lips and sure had pretty lies to tell, but this, no matter how much Rumple denied it and refused to believe his father’s words, was the bitter truth. Whether it was worst for Peter or Rumple to actual comprehend the fact the bond between them hadn’t been completely severed that day so many hundreds years ago in Neverland’s forest is not easy to tell. They probably both despised it with an everlasting passion, burning wild like the fire Peter so appreciated in his enemies’ eyes. 

And Rumple – his son – was his enemy right there, had been for so long it was hard to remember anything else. Hard, but not impossible. And no matter what the fairytales wrote about Peter Pan forgetting Wendy and the Lost Boys and even Tinkerbell the truth was so very different. Peter never forgot, he remembered. Oh, how he remembered…  
He remembered the day Rumple turned eight. It’d been two years since Peter abandoned him. Peter didn’t regret a thing, he wasn’t one for regrets and tears, he was one for fun and games and carelessness to a point where it seemed unbearably and yet perfect. But even if he didn’t regret a thing he still put on his red cloak that day and left Neverland for the first time in a very long time. 

He’d looked at his son through the windows, had seen the boy sitting in front of the spinning wheel, his small, fragile fingers working their magic. Rumple’s eyes had not once left the spinning wheel. He just kept going and going and Peter had watched him until the boy finally rose and went to bed. And somewhere in the back of his mind the eternal boy remembered the time Rumple turned two and he’d bought (stolen) him a piece of the bakers finest cake and the little boy had beamed, so happy was he. And Peter had let the boy stay up for far too long but neither he nor Rumple had cared. 

When Rumple went to bed no one handed him a present or a piece of cake and the thought hit Peter, that maybe Rumple had forgotten it was his birthday. Or maybe, just maybe, he didn’t want to celebrate it because the only important person in the boy’s live wasn’t there. He was wrong though. The figure outside of the window - as still and as a dark as a shadow - didn’t leave until the boy fell asleep. 

Two years later he visited him again. It was a day like any other. Peter stood in the forest, hidden by trees and leaves. From there he could watch his twelve years old son sit on the grass with a book in his hands and the wind pulling in his hair. And Peter hadn’t staid for long that time. He wouldn’t – couldn’t – admit that maybe Rumple reminded Peter of Rumple’s mother to a point where it felt like his lungs were aching and his fingers twisting and he had had to turn around. 

He arrived again only a few months later. The boy was walking through a forest. It was dark and the only thing guiding him was the moon. The boy didn’t seem frightened. Actually, he seemed to enjoy the wild nature surrounding him. Peter was walking behind with soundless steps. Just before they reached the end of the forest Peter pulled out his pipe and played a note. Just one, single, piercing note. And Rumple heard it and turned his head in his father’s direction but couldn’t actually see him in the darkness. Peter stood still for a second or two before he played another note and then another. And Rumple heard every single one and looked into the forest with furrowed eyebrows and teeth biting his lips. He even walked back into the forest, searching for the sound of the pipe. But it wasn’t there. It was gone, and so was Peter. 

The next time he saw his son it’d been almost six years and Rumple was not a boy anymore. He was a man, almost eighteen years old. Tall, beautiful and so much like his mother and yet so much like his father. Peter watched him run down the street, hurrying to wherever he was going. He was coming towards him, he was going to run straight into him. He could just stand still, could just wait for Rumple – his son – to collide with him like a meteor. He imagined how the boy, who wasn’t a boy, would look at Peter, start to apologies. And maybe at first he wouldn’t recognize him, but then it would come rushing back to him, hated memories and things too important to forget. 

In the very last second Peter stepped aside and Rumple hurried down the street. He didn’t even turn his head. If he’d just turned his head he would’ve seen his father standing against the tall building, watching him. 

When he saw him again he wasn’t a boy but a man. And Peter realized that Rumple was taller and – in looks – older than him. And he looked at the boy that was so far from a boy and he tried to tell himself that this was his son but it got harder and harder, and he didn’t blink or flinch, just stared at the figure and couple of meters ahead of him. And when he’d finally convinced himself that the man was in fact Rumple he finally turned around and left. 

The next time he saw him, he wasn’t alone. There was a boy next to him. It took longer than it should have for Peter to realize that the boy next to Rumple was his grandson. This time he only staid for a couple of minutes. Just long enough for him to get a good look at his son’s hardened and exhausted face so that he could recall it again if he had to – and he didn’t have to and therefor he wouldn’t, but he could. And that was enough. 

The last time he saw Rumple before Peter tried to bring his son – his own grandson – with him to Neverland the man was so old he could’ve been Peter’s father. His wasn’t the coward he’d been the last time he saw him. He was veil and evil, he seemed to own no conscience. He terrorized and destroyed and people feared him or hated him but most often both. All grown up and become the dark one. Good for him. 

Peter watched his son talk to someone – the eternal boy didn’t care who – and a smirk painted the devil’s face. He stayed longer than he had for years. A part of him enjoyed looking at his son, really look at him, and know that the boy was nothing like he was supposed to be. And maybe Peter even took pride in knowing that he’d abandoned and thereby destroyed a boy who’d once been good and pure. 

He didn’t see Rumple for a long time after their argument over Bealfire by the fire. Partly because Peter had other and better things to and partly because he wasn’t sure he actually wanted to see Rumple again. And not because of the reasons Rumple or Felix – who knew just about everything – though it was, no for other reasons, his own reasons. He was the ruler of Neverland. He was a child. And a child cannot have a child. And so, for a long period in his live, Rumple didn’t exist. Yes, his son walked the ground of Neverland and yes – without knowing so of course – Peter was searching for his not yet born grandson – Peter’s great grandson – but for the longest time ever Rumple himself was not to be found anywhere in the clouds of Peter’s mind. 

It took him years, centuries, before he finally pulled on the deep red cloak again and left Neverland. This time he brought Felix along with him. And the boy with feathers in his hair didn’t ask any questions, didn’t comment on what they were doing. He just stood next to his king, his family, as the eternal boy stood in the shadows of Rumple’s castle, waiting for the boy – who wasn’t a boy – to walk through the gates. Yet he didn’t. They waited until the sun began to rise and Felix was shivering because of the cold. They waited longer than they should have, longer than they needed to, longer than Peter would’ve preferred. And then they finally left. 

When he arrived back in Neverland he made himself a promise never to visit his son again. But he couldn’t keep it. One last time, before he abducted Henry, he went to visit Rumple. This time in Storybrook. The boy – who wasn’t a boy – wasn’t alone. He was talking to a beautiful girl. Belle was her name. And Peter watched them for a long time though the windows. There was something about the way Rumple talked to the girl, something about the way he touched her, something about the way she looked at him that made Peter want to leave immediately. And yet he stayed, stood still for hours and hours until even the eternal boy couldn’t pretend that his feet weren’t hurting and his lungs weren’t aching and his head wasn’t spinning. He hadn’t felt so human in years. It made him feel vulnerable and he hated that. So he turned away and left. 

When he looked at Rumple, his son, standing there, with nothing but hatred in his eyes Peter didn’t regret anything. Neither Peter nor Malcolm was one for regrets and vengeance. They loathed tears and unfulfilled dreams, people crying and whining because they were too weak, too human, to in the end put themselves ahead of others in order to get what they wanted. And so looking at Rumple, the boy he’d abandoned, he didn’t feel sorry, he didn’t feel like he’d done the wrong thing when it came to that faithful day in Neverland. But he couldn’t deny that when he looked at his son at that moment he didn’t see ‘The Dark One’, he saw Rumple. A little, fragile child with big, tearful eyes, frail fingers and pale skin, laughter that only a few people knew and a smile that was oddly comforting. Even for Peter. 

And maybe when he spoke the next sentence there was a depth of truth in it that even Peter hadn’t planned on: 

,,Stay with me. Let this go. Let’s start over!”

And when Rumple refused the offer the eternal boy, the first lost boy, the selfish father, the everlasting child, the ruler of Neverland, the king of believe couldn’t determine whether he should feel sad or relieved so he settled for neither and trapped his son in Pandora’s box with mixed feelings and hard eyes, he doubted would ever really be sorrowful again.


End file.
